


Creamy

by Dracoduceus



Series: Tastes Like Yellow [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Fun things to do in a power outage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: McCree's arm is beginning to get tired.Hanzo urges him to take a break.





	Creamy

**Author's Note:**

> From a conversation on discord. It took a very different turn in my mind.

Hanzo’s breath was hot on McCree’s throat, the scales of his belly strangely both cool and warm against McCree’s back. The muscles in Hanzo’s belly twitched, sending his blue scales rippling like liquid; they rasped against the skin of McCree’s back, soft enough to be felt but not enough to mark him.

Yet.

“Babe,” McCree breathed.

“You wanted this,” Hanzo reminded him, sounding amused. He pressed his lips to the tendons of McCree’s neck. “You need to work for it. Or are you getting tired, gunslinger?” he asked with mock sympathy.

Despite his teasing, McCree knew that Hanzo was just teasing him and that if he tapped out, Hanzo would let him rest. There was no use getting hurt over this.

“Stop teasing,” McCree grumbled. He forced himself to relax and began moving again. “I don’t have the same endurance you do.”

Hanzo chuckled again and McCree could feel it all the way down the dragon’s body. His scales moved and caught against McCree’s bare skin and he wondered if he would have scaleburn there, too.

He couldn’t say that he  _ minded _ the idea—he loved all of the marks that Hanzo put in his skin.

“Fuck,” McCree breathed, pausing to take a breath. His arm shook, his fingers stiff from gripping too tight.

Hanzo chuckled as he shook out his arm, opened and closed his hand a few times to return feeling to his fingers. “Not quite there yet,” he murmured, peering over McCree’s shoulder. “Not stiff enough.”

Groaning, McCree tipped his head back into Hanzo’s shoulder. “Are you  _ serious _ ?”

Chuckling, Hanzo didn’t respond, too busy scenting the gathering sweat on his neck and shoulder, his tongue flicking out to tease McCree’s oversensitive skin. “This  _ is _ what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked as if this wasn’t what he wanted as well. “Didn’t you say that it would be a good experience, something to do while the power was out?”

“The eggs were bad enough,” McCree said, almost whining. He could almost feel the slimy mucous of the eggs, the sticky residue they left behind on his skin even after thoroughly cleaning himself.

Hanzo chuckled. “You wanted this,” he reminded McCree gently. “But if you want to stop…”

“Just a little more,” McCree said stubbornly as Hanzo drew his clawed hands gently along his body, catching trails of sticky fluid and smearing them into McCree’s skin. “ _ Hanzo _ .”

The dragon pressed closer, lifting a claw to his mouth. McCree could see his black tongue flick out, lapping up the faint streak of white on the tip of one of his talons. “It’s hard work. You’re doing very well for someone not used to this.”

McCree grumbled. “That sounded like such a backhanded compliment,” he huffed. He was beginning to tire, the ache building up; it was only through sheer stubbornness that he kept going.

“You can bow out at any time,” Hanzo murmured. “I can feel how warm you’re getting—you must be getting tired. Do not hurt yourself, dearest. There is no shame in asking for help.” He leaned closer, pressing himself against McCree’s back, his tail curling around a leg. “I want you to have strength for later,” he added into McCree’s ear. “There’s no shame in it.”

Sighing tiredly, McCree let his head fall forward, slowed the frantic, painful motions of his hand. “I can’t,” he breathed. “I can’t, Han.”

Hanzo chuckled. “Let me,” he breathed. “Relax. Whipping meringue by hand isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“It looks fine,” McCree almost whined even as he let Hanzo take the whisk from him.

“Stiff peaks,” Hanzo replied, lifting the whisk. Together they watched the fluffy mixture rise and slowly fall. “Still not stiff enough, but you got it close. I’m very proud of you.”

McCree huffed, standing on the balls of his feet to press a kiss to Hanzo’s scaly cheek. “My boyfriend is a master baker.”

Snorting, Hanzo nipped playfully at McCree. “Begone!” he growled though his eyes shone with amusement. “If you’re going to make fun of me, go away.”

He didn’t enforce this and coiled his tail tighter around McCree’s leg as he gripped the whisk in his large hands. McCree sighed, leaning back against his big, scaly boyfriend. The hiss of the whisk against the bowl was strangely soothing.

“Go to the couch if you’re going to sleep,” Hanzo murmured. Grumbling, McCree obeyed and was soon asleep.

When he woke up, it was to a perfect lemon meringue pie on the coffee table beside the couch and a slumbering dragon whose head rested on the arm of the couch above his head.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what any of you were expecting.


End file.
